


i'm fucking crazy

by vicaldi



Category: American Horror Story: Asylum, One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1960s, Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Asylum, Drugs, Erotic Poetry, Fluff, Madness, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Poetry, Sexual Content, Twink Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5058859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vicaldi/pseuds/vicaldi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>more happy love! more happy, happy love! forever warm and still to be enjoyed - louis' favorite poem stops making sense, because if he can't love and be loved, then what the fuck is the point?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by American Horror Story: Asylum.

Louis‘ light green silky bahtrobe falls down on the carpet, the carpet which is delicately soft and, as Louis likes to say, looking like a real fur. It gently traces the curves of Louis‘ body and shows his tattoos, the ones he regrets getting. The bathrobe is everything that covers his naked body, along with a bunch of hickeys on his neck and as he’s slowly moving through the room, it shows off everything.  
“You could just aswell throw that ugly cheap shit away.“  
Louis looks up, his eyes twinkling in the morning light. He smiles and immediately takes the bathrobe off.  
“Better?“ he asks, his innocent face looking up to the person laying in the bed across the room. The person stands up, naked as well, and walks up to Louis. He bends down on his knees, holding up Louis‘ hand, slowly kissing every bit of his skin.  
“You smell so fucking nice, I just… I just can‘t get enough of you,“ he whispers onto his skin and makes him sit down on the carpet, pushing their bodies closer to each other. It drives him insane, Louis drives him insane, his scent, his voice, his lips and body.  
“Love me,“ Charles whispers, rubbing his chest against Louis‘, but Louis‘ body doesn’t seem to react to his lover‘s touch, he’s not saying anything, he just lets Charles kiss every part of him to inches.  
Charles mumbles: “I love you to death, baby." He felt like his brain was turnt into a mash whenever he was with Louis, he couldn't think straight, he just let his urges lead him and make him. "I love you so much and I need you to know that. I need you," but Louis doesn’t say anything, just stares at Charles, but it's more like he was staring through Charles. Charles feels the tears coming. He lets go and aggresively stands up.  
“For fuck’s sake! I’m trying so HARD Louis, so fucking hard, I love you and you’re making me crazy, yet you just… you don’t seem to care. I’m so done, I thought I mean something to you, but…“ He’s staring at Louis‘ body, at his lips and it‘s so hard to think straight, “Jesus CHRIST won’t you say something?“  
Louis stands up too. He steps over his bathrobe, looking calm as always, calm and charming. Charles closes his eyes, he can’t stand the way Louis moves, he can’t stay the silence and the sound of his bare feet walking on the fabric of carpet.  
Louis remains silent, provoking his lover, provoking him on purpose.  
“I don’t feel anything towards you anymore, Charles,“ he finally says.  
The silence hitting the room feels like a god damn shockwave, leaving Charles speechless.  
"What?" Charles doesn't believe, no, actually he does, he knew it, of course he knew it, since the moment he first told Louis that he loved him.  
Yet the power of those words hit him harder than he expected. Seeing them in Louis‘ eyes was painful, but hearing it from his own mouth hurt even more.  
“What?“ he whispers. “What are you saing, Louis? We both know it’s not true,“ and he walks up towards him, trying to take Louis‘ face in his hands, but Louis flinches, he turns away, avoiding Charles needing hands and eyes.  
“What are you doing…,“ Charles breathes out and reaches for Louis‘ arm, but he bends down for his bathrobe, slowly putting it on.  
He walks across the room, leaving Charles behind. Charles is going crazy, he can feel it, but he doesn’t give up yet, not just yet, and desperately shouts: “You CAN’T JUST DO THIS TO ME, YOU’RE MY FUCKING EVERYTHING, DON’T YOU LEAVE ME,“ but Louis doesn’t react and Charles completely loses his mind. He falls on the floor and starts uncontrollably crying, making Louis start laughing.  
“Oh come on, stand up and stop acting like a fucking baby. It’s over, Charles.“ 

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed  
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;  
And, happy melodist, unweari-ed,  
Forever piping songs forever new;  
More happy love! more happy, happy love!  
Forever warm and still to be enjoyed,  
Forever panting, and forever young;  
All breathing human passion far above,  
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed,  
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

„Yes,“ Charles finally manages to say, his cheeks burning and tears drying, “it is. I will ruin you.“


	2. unknown pleasures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...it’s Bobby. I like when people call me Bobby. It makes me all… fuzzy inside.

His bottom lip shakes. The arms covered in goosebumps and bruises are shaking too, his head is shaking, his mind, his brain is shaking like a fucking jelly, Oh I’m shaking like a jelly on a plate, dance and shake your hands! I’m shaking like a jelly, a wibbly, wobbly jelly, oh I’m shaking like a jelly on a plate! He has no idea what is happening, the belts are too tight and he can barely breathe, i’m going to throw up, he is so sure, his warm saliva is making him sick and here we go! The vomits end up on his dirty white hospital gown, he can’t move, not even a little, he’s tied up and staring at a wooden ceiling that forces him to close his eyes and swallow the rest of his Sunday lunch. Wait, when was the last time he ate? It felt like ages ago, his stomach was starting to digest itselff, can my stomach even digests itself? He says out loud and begins to laugh, he’s laughing, his vomits dripping down his mouth and chin and his head violently hitting the pillow, white as everything in this place, smelling like disease and disinfection.

Louis William Tomlinson, 18 years old, born on December 24, 1946, 1:47 pm, Worcester, Massachusetts, is walking through the common room, his eyes staring not at the people, but through them, no, no no no, actually he doesn’t see anything, he’s so very, so very confused, poor boy. His little journey from the room number 312 to here has no aim, his brain disappeared and was replaced by smoggy, foggy air.  
In that exact moment, he gets hit in the face – someone’s screaming, his cheeks are bleeding and he can’t see anything. He’s falling down, but before he hits the ground, someone grabs his arm and makes him stand up.  
„What is happening?“ he whimpers and leans onto that someone’s shoulder.  
People are still screaming, swearing and yelling like god damn cavemen, where am I, Louis thinks and sees the face of the man that hit him, by the look on his face and blood on his fists, this has to be him.  
He wants to ask what was that for, but he can’t speak properly, he’s stuttering and scared of the sounds coming out of his mouth.  
He turns to the person that’s holding him. It’s a man, probably in his forties or fifties, he’s wearing a hospital gown, just like everyone else here, Louis smiles and slaps his forehead, everyone here is wearing a hospital gown, Louis, you silly one.  
The man is frowning.  
„You gotta be careful, boy. He hits everyone that is not paying enough attention.“  
Louis starts to laugh, but it’s the nice man that hits him now.  
„Stop it!“ he screams and furiously slaps Louis once again and once again. Louis presses his hand on his burning, bloody cheek, and is about to cry, but the nice man makes him stop. He presses Louis‘ face onto his chest, clumsily comforting him. „Sssh, don’t cry, babyboy. I didn’t want to hurt you. You just gotta be careful. And don’t smile at me. I don’t like it.“  
Louis nods, slowly and he can’t stop crying, fucking hell. The man who hit him first is at the other side of the room now, looking out of the window, his fists aggresively pressed against the glass.  
„So… you are the new one, right?“ The nice man asks Louis, making him turn his head to him. He doesn’t understand.  
„What do you mean?“ he asks, his voice childishly clueless and full of tears.  
The man smiles and sits down.  
„Give me your hand,“ he says, still smiling, while making Louis sit on his lap.  
He takes Louis‘ right hand in his and slowly traces the soft skin of a young, scared, scared to death child. There’s a small, white bracelet around his wrist.  
„See?“ the man whispers, gently rubbing Louis‘ hand. There’s a number on it. „312,“ the man reads and smiles. „That’s close to mine, I’m 318,“ and the happiness in his voice is so obvious that Louis raises his head and stares in the man’s eyes.  
„Who are you?“  
„I’m Bob, but for you, my sweet angel, it’s Bobby. I like when people call me Bobby. It makes me all… fuzzy inside,“ he says, almost whispering in Louis‘ ears, and touches his lobe with his tongue.  
Louis shivers and he almost says out loud how nice that was, and if Bobby could do that once again, but then he stops himself and frowns.  
„I know what you’re here for,“ the nice man smiles and touches Louis‘ waist. „You just came back from the… shock treatment, didn’t you?“  
At first, Louis violently starts to shake his head, no no no, Bobby, that must be a horrible mistake, but then his heads starts to fill with bright aggresive images and his nerves begin to tingle and burn. He’s getting dizzy, he’s about fo fall off Bobby’s lap, but Bobby, with a worried look in his eyes, catches him, presses him closer and mumbles: „You’re safe with me. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, my gay boy.“


End file.
